Her Lycan Lover Read online

  After an hour going over the menus for the Den’s gourmet restaurant, the chef left her office. She grabbed her purse, and rumbled around inside for her keys.

  Sonya appeared in her doorway. “Got a minute? I just need to talk.”

  Sherry was about to ask if it could wait, but Sonya’s expression made her sink back down onto the cushion of her swivel chair. “Something happen? You’re not usually on site until evening?”

  Walking out of the side door of the courthouse, Quinn noticed two men he’d observed upstairs in the corridor down from Judge O’Conner’s chambers. They began moving in the same direction as him. He sniffed the air. Nothing. He was upwind. They looked like reporters. Wouldn’t be the first time, but hardly anything news breaking was going down in his law firm. Today, a summary judgment on alleged corporate violations. He’d won, but expected the opposing side to file an appellate brief. No biggie.

  Unless they were Carrigan’s goons.

  Quinn continued his progression on the sidewalk, crossing the street, and then pushed open the parking garage door. He glanced over his shoulder, and the men were stepping up onto the curb. Coincidence? The hairs on the back of his neck begged to differ.

  His car was on the other side of the garage and be began to pick up the pace, weaving in between the parked cars, not stopping until he made the stairwell. Fuck. He wasn’t like Shawn who flanked himself with military shifters sporting handguns.

  Quinn employed a laissez-faire attitude given he wasn’t directly involved in overseeing the Justice Council his partner ran. He wasn’t the one who heard cases or judged causes. No one was going to come looking for him for the merits of a ruling on corporate litigation. If Carrigan was behind these idiots, the question went to the warehouse property. Why so important?

  Light flashed across the wall of the garage when the exit door opened. He listened intently. Only footsteps without voices or a slamming door. He’d been waiting for those two factors and vacillated between believing this was his imagination or, no. This was somehow linked to Sherry.

  So far only silence. And in the world of useless attorneys, files and briefcases were standard accessories. He was without the 007 conveniences. Sure, he could shift but if he were wrong, there were laws and he’d have his arse tossed into jail. In his human form, he could run, vault, and crush, but he could also get shot.

  His car was ten or so rows down. Pointless to remain immobile. Still, he leaned against the wall, his senses heightened. The only sound was the low footfalls from whoever it was moving in his direction. He opened the door to the stairwell. Not a creak, only flickering light spilling outward. They’d notice the change in light. Nothing he could do.

  Inside the stairwell, he took the broom propped in the corner and jammed it through the door handle. Without sticking around, he bolted up to the next floor and headed for the skywalk. He pushed through the doorway, rushing over the tiled floor and glass covered walkway. Only a few people were inside at this time. The dinging of the elevator at the end had him sprinting. Two women conversing in front of the lift, entered.

  He called out, “Hold it.”

  Quinn leapt inside with a thud, sniffed and assessed these were humans and no threat. He squeezed in next to the control panel, and smashed the button to close the doors. “I’m late,” he panted.

  “You’re pressing the hold button,” one of the women said.

  He exhaled, moving his finger, and pumped the correct button. The doors began to close, an inch or two remained as his heart hammered. Outside, the men stopped in front of the elevator. Any second he expected to see them shove their fingers inside the crack. Nothing. They stood outside, calling out, “Hold it.”

  Shrugging, Quinn turned to the women and said, “Thanks.”

  Down on the ground floor of the building, he crossed into the mezzanine and tore out through the front doors. On the front walk, cattycorner to the courthouse, he regarded the people nearby. No one stared back at him. Definitely, he needed to get his life in order. This was seriously bordering on sleep deprived illusions. Today was easily going down as the craziest day of his life. Another millimeter crazier and he’d wonder if he was hallucinating. He hailed a cab in front of the building, giving the driver the Den’s directions.

  “A fifty if you get me there without stopping,” he said and the cabbie immediately floored the gas pedal.

  “Without stopping,” the cabbie agreed.

  Quinn speed dialed Sherry. She answered on the second ring. “I thought I was going to hear from you later. More like this afternoon. What’s the word? Did you win?”

  “Anyone strange hanging around over there?” Quinn glanced out the back window of the cab. Two men were standing in the street, back where he’d been standing. They waved as he’d done to flag down a cab.

  “No more bread deliveries,” she said.

  “I’m serious.”

  “You mean, for a stud club or in general?”

  “On any and all levels? As you said, today is deliveries. The guards have a tendency to go a little lax on who comes in. I want them to collect and verify each bill of lading before anyone is allowed on the grounds.”

  “What the heck happened at Court? Who’d you piss off now?”

  “No one. And who do I ever piss off?”

  She hesitated. “You’ve been known to step on a few toes.”

  “Not like this. Today is… unusual. Does it seem like everything’s status quo?”

  “A busy Monday. Same as always.”

  “Something’s in the air. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Quinn, you’re right. I had my own thoughts after we… let’s not talk anymore over the phone. Are you coming here?”

  “On my way. See you soon.”

  “I’ll be in my office.” Sherry hung up.

  Crossing over the river, he did a double take. “Hey mac, we’re headed wrong. You should have caught Speer.” Quinn looked around. He had lost track of which direction the cabbie was headed.

  “Wrong,” the cabbie said.

  “Was there a detour?” Quinn asked.

  “A detour,” the cabbie replied.

  “What?” Looking out the cab, he squinted. “There aren’t any signs.”

  “Aren’t any signs,” the man shot back.

  The sting of irritation worked up his spine. The cabbie was paraphrasing him. Using the same words and even his tone of voice. “I’d like a slice of apple pie,” Quinn said abruptly.

  “Apple pie,” the cabbie echoed.

  “Fuck,” Quinn glowered.

  “Fuck,” the cabbie answered.

  He attuned to his shifter senses already taut. He inhaled and coughed. Sitting in the back of the cab, the cherry fragrance of the interior flanked Quinn, turning his stomach. He put his physical reaction aside and considered the parroting cabbie’s strange vernacular when the driver ran a red light.

  Quinn gripped the arm rest, scanning the road closely as they sped by buildings. “Slow, the fuck down.”

  “Fuck down.”

  He glared at the back of the man’s head, then noticed the rippling of the driver’s skin. It wasn’t the sign of shifter. This type of creature existed, but he had not seen one for years. Quinn sniffed, inhaling deeply while pushing aside the sickening cherry odor mask. He locked onto the underlying scent. Pervasively rank, and there was only one type of creature that had this stench. He tapped on the glass separating the compartments and the driver peered into the rearview mirror. The eyes that stared back were not human and they were not shifter. Hell, vampires didn’t even possess eyes like those. No whites. Complete black cavernous pits stared back at Quinn, but then the driver looked forward as the car in front braked.

  The cab skidded to a stop. Quinn opened the cab door on the opposite side from the driver and chugged forward onto the street.

  “Shite,” he swore, skidding to a stop as a car flew in front of him. He sprinted across the two lane
s of oncoming traffic. The screeching of breaks behind him got his attention. The driver U-turned the cab, staring at him as though memorizing him. Absorbing.

  Quinn did not have the luxury of pondering that messed up ride. It was the past. The present mattered. Getting his head on and back to the Den paramount. He had to get his bearings. The park was up ahead along Mile High Circle. He was about five kilometers from the Den. He took to the sidewalk and dialed Sherry’s number while keeping tabs on the traffic and people on foot.

  When she answered, he nearly shouted, “Can you leave? Right now? Weird got a whole lot weirder. What type of creatures flicker?”

  “Is this some warped game of twenty questions?”

  “No joke. Do you know? I’ve had some experiences. I got out of the cab it was concerning enough.” He didn’t want to sound an alarm if he were wrong. The Unseelie hadn’t been seen in Denver in fucking forever. He had to be wrong.

  “You said flicker?” Sherry’s voice rose. “Do you remember my last request? Quinn, words travel beyond the cell lines. Do not say another word on the subject. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

  “Meet me at Bryant and Mile High. There’s a hotel on the corner.”

  “I’m leaving now.”

  “Lock your door.” A sharp chill tore through his nerve endings. The Lycan in him wanted to howl. He was supposed to be the one protecting Sherry. Not the other way around. This was all wrong. If he shifted, he could make it back to the club. His instincts rallied. No. His name had been on the court sign in. It was no secret he was part owner of several LoDo businesses. Easy to track. This made sense. Sher had to leave the Den. “Do you have a gun?”

  “Flickering skin? We’ll need more than a pistol,” she whispered. “You need to take care. I’m on my way.”

  He hung up, glancing both ahead and behind him. Ever since he’d kissed Sher, his world had come undone. So much for the magic moment of meeting his mate. He should have known the fates would kick his arse.

  The Dark Fae were jackals coming to prey during times of weakness. What had happened for them to appear in Denver? So far, none were wielding any copper weapons. A sign that he was marked. Only one of his uncles had been a protector to a spellcaster. Quinn had heard tales. Not a pretty end. It was the only time a Lycan could be killed. A solitary death.

  All other Lycans were clannish unless they were called as guardians. Not all, but some had the instinct. Luck of the draw! His DNA had him hungering for a spellcaster unlike his parents who had the run-of-the-mill Lycan attraction for other Lycans. They’d married, had children, and now enjoyed sailing as their latest hobby. They hobknobbed with royalty and had been invited to the upcoming christening of the new prince. His brothers and sisters were exactly the same. Boring sods. Not him. He spent years wandering the Earth in search of a conjurer. Talk about being the black sheep of the family. This was all more than likely a glorious mistake. One he would gladly enjoy living down with Sherry.

  No sooner had he finished that thought than the sunshine disappeared under rolling grey clouds accompanied by sharp winds. His jacket whipped against his body. The howling in the distance, baying wolves were enough for him to toss his briefcase aside. The warnings were tossed by the wind. Yips and a few long trills echoed. The eerie déjà vu of his dream last night hijacked his senses. His body tensed, his skin tightened, and his wolf urge to shift crept closer to the surface.

  Gone were the other people walking across the street. They were more than likely intelligent enough to get out of the weather. In the middle of spring, this was well beyond typical—it was Biblical.

  Honking horns blared up ahead. With a squeal of tires, two cars collided. Quinn inhaled the rush of scents blasting past him. In a second he’d be shifting unless he consciously held back. He loosened his tie, his fingers freezing in the plummeting temperatures. His teeth clattered. Christ, he had to maintain control.

  “Wolf,” the voice came from behind him.

  Quinn turned to stare into two pairs of eyes. The men from the parking lot stood in back of him. Up close, it was easy to tell that they weren’t human. Castings really. They possessed another form of a flickering outer body. One that vacillated between human and creature. Clothed men, and then in a blink, their masquerade disappeared and they were hulking, naked beings. These ones had taken on horrid features. Sores covered their grey skin. They bore the defining hieroglyphic markings similar to tattoos all over their bodies. They were Dark Fae all right. A wholly dismal lot; not the beings he remembered from years ago.

  “What do you want?” Quinn asked.

  “You’re thwarting our work. Dismissing Carrigan wasn’t a smart move. He’s doing our bidding. And there are various ways in which we can gain your undivided attention.” They didn’t move their mouths… or the hole that was mouth. Fae did not talk. They communicated on a psychic level, devoid of emotion.

  “You? This is all your doing?” Quinn used their telepathic channel to articulate his thought.

  The Fae shot back an answer. “We’re not here for a holiday.”

  “Doesn’t look that way.” Quinn studied them. They were weak or they’d have already taken hold of him. “You’ve something to bargain?”

  “We don’t bargain. When have we ever bargained? Our kind created you and we can destroy you.”

  “How? Or don’t you remember the deal?” Quinn growled out loud, and shifted into his Lycan form. His clothing ripped apart and lay in tatters on the ground. He swung, his claws tore across the midsection of one of the creatures, gouging it. That Fae stumbled backward, holding onto to his torn midsection.

  “Wolf, you’re making this personal. That’s a change.”

  “You’re following me and that makes it personal.” Fuck, this creature knew something. Quinn cleared his thoughts. Easy to do in shifter form. As a Lycan he could either keep his humanity, or stow it and assume only wolf senses.

  Quinn descended on the other creature, taking hold of putrid flesh at the point where the Fae’s head connected to its body. Snapping powerful jaws, Quinn sunk his teeth into grisly Fae flesh. The bitter taste filled his mouth and he clamped his jaw down on the Fae’s neck.

  Pain sparked his wolf nerves. Quinn pushed the creature away. The force sent the Fae tumbling backward. It fell on the ground next to the sidewalk. The Fae writhed, not from the wounds inflicted by Quinn. It was the contact with the soil. The Fae screamed as its body disintegrated into a bubbly mass.

  Quinn stalked toward the other Fae. Its wounds gapped and a darker grey liquid dripped from his body.

  “This isn’t over. There are more coming. They’ll find you. And you’re right. We might not be able to destroy you in one night, but we’ll delight in torturing you for years, Wolf. A vow.” He thumped his upper body to seal the promise.

  Leaping, Quinn vaulted across the sidewalk and pushed the Fae down. Quinn began shifting back to his human form. “Hard to believe you can’t take a little dirt considering what you’re made of, Fae.”

  “Don’t. We know about the woman… the caster. Think we won’t find her?” The Fae stared unblinking as if considering. “We’ll let you watch what we intend. You can’t imagine the things we can do to a human. And female.”

  In the short time these Dark Fae had come back, they’d manifested dark emotions. Another type of leeching perpetrated by the Fae. He considered the group these things were in league with. The Fae had access to Carrigan and his history. This pair of Fae were mistaken. If anything, this was personal.

  “Wrong.” Quinn reached over and tore a clump of earth from the ground. “You just gave up your chance to go back to where you came from. You want the Earth, now enjoy. Chew on this.”

  He slammed the moist dirt into the Fae’s slit of a mouth.

  Backing out of her parking spot at the Den, Sherry observed the sky turn from bright blue to a blanket of grey. The wind sliced through the trees, littering the ground with spring buds. Sherry waved
to the guard and turned onto the outer street, making her way to the main roadway. She could make Mile High in a few minutes.

  “What the?” Sherry groaned. Freezing rain pelted her windshield. She pulled out her phone and dialed Quinn even though she’d told him no more calls. “Where are you?”

  “The park. Take the perimeter road. I’ll meet you under the overpass.”

  She drove down the gravel path, speeding past dumpsters and park maintenance vans. Up ahead, Quinn stood leaning against a brick wall nearly naked. Sherry pulled up beside him. “Judas priest, what’s going on? And what’s the deal with you and clothing today?”

  “Freaking cold as hell weather,” he said between chattering teeth. “Get the heck out of Dodge. I met up with a couple of freaks. There’s more over there at the hotel. I think you’re right about intercepting calls. They were waiting. These fuckers communicate at different level. Telepathic.”

  Sherry turned on the heater. All the way up. “Who? Who was waiting?”

  “Had greyish skin. Wrinkled. Bumpy. Aliens would look better.” He regarded her for a second. “Dark Fae.”

  “Fae?” she whispered, gripping the steering wheel, barely able to contemplate what Quinn said. A haze of fear choked her brain, momentarily cloistering her from the icy temperatures outside. She refocused her attention. Gazing into Quinn’s eyes, she announced, “They’ve crossed.”

  “You know of them?” he asked, his stare getting more and more piercing.

  A wave of apprehension swept over her. She quickly nodded. “In a manner of speaking. Not directly.”

  “I’ll assume in your spellcaster training, you were taught these creatures are evil incarnate.” He drew his brows together in a dark menacing frown. “I’ll circle back around to that later if not. I had a run in with them. Nearby.”

  “Run in? You’re unscathed.” Dark Fae didn’t do casual meetings. They eradicated beings. She let her gaze drift over his hard muscled body. Not a scratch to mar his perfect tawny flesh except the one on his leg. Only goose bumps covered his body. He was unclothed from head to waist, his hips barely concealed by the torn material that must have once been his trousers. “We’d better leave the area.”